Time's Laughingstocks, and Other Verses Part 8

That was once her cas.e.m.e.nt, And the taper nigh, Shining from within there, Beckoned, "Here am I!"

Now, as then, I see her Moving at the pane; Ah; 'tis but her phantom Borne within my brain! -

Foremost in my vision Everywhere goes she; Change dissolves the landscapes, She abides with me.

Shape so sweet and shy, Dear, Who can say thee nay?

Never once do I, Dear, Wish thy ghost away.

THE END OF THE EPISODE

Indulge no more may we In this sweet-bitter pastime: The love-light shines the last time Between you, Dear, and me.

There shall remain no trace Of what so closely tied us, And blank as ere love eyed us Will be our meeting-place.

The flowers and thymy air, Will they now miss our coming?

The dumbles thin their humming To find we haunt not there?

Though fervent was our vow, Though ruddily ran our pleasure, Bliss has fulfilled its measure, And sees its sentence now.

Ache deep; but make no moans: Smile out; but stilly suffer: The paths of love are rougher Than thoroughfares of stones.

THE SIGH

Little head against my shoulder, Shy at first, then somewhat bolder, And up-eyed; Till she, with a timid quaver, Yielded to the kiss I gave her; But, she sighed.

That there mingled with her feeling Some sad thought she was concealing It implied.

- Not that she had ceased to love me, None on earth she set above me; But she sighed.

She could not disguise a pa.s.sion, Dread, or doubt, in weakest fashion If she tried: Nothing seemed to hold us sundered, Hearts were victors; so I wondered Why she sighed.

Afterwards I knew her throughly, And she loved me staunchly, truly, Till she died; But she never made confession Why, at that first sweet concession, She had sighed.

It was in our May, remember; And though now I near November, And abide Till my appointed change, unfretting, Sometimes I sit half regretting That she sighed.

"IN THE NIGHT SHE CAME"

I told her when I left one day That whatsoever weight of care Might strain our love, Time's mere a.s.sault Would work no changes there.

And in the night she came to me, Toothless, and wan, and old, With leaden concaves round her eyes, And wrinkles manifold.

I tremblingly exclaimed to her, "O wherefore do you ghost me thus!

I have said that dull defacing Time Will bring no dreads to us."

"And is that true of YOU?" she cried In voice of troubled tune.

I faltered: "Well . . . I did not think You would test me quite so soon!"

She vanished with a curious smile, Which told me, plainlier than by word, That my staunch pledge could scarce beguile The fear she had averred.

Her doubts then wrought their shape in me, And when next day I paid My due caress, we seemed to be Divided by some shade.

THE CONFORMERS

Yes; we'll wed, my little fay, And you shall write you mine, And in a villa chastely gray We'll house, and sleep, and dine.

But those night-screened, divine, Stolen trysts of heretofore, We of choice ecstasies and fine Shall know no more.

The formal faced cohue Will then no more upbraid With smiting smiles and whisperings two Who have thrown less loves in shade.

We shall no more evade The searching light of the sun, Our game of pa.s.sion will be played, Our dreaming done.

We shall not go in stealth To rendezvous unknown, But friends will ask me of your health, And you about my own.

When we abide alone, No leapings each to each, But syllables in frigid tone Of household speech.

When down to dust we glide Men will not say askance, As now: "How all the country side Rings with their mad romance!"

But as they graveward glance Remark: "In them we lose A worthy pair, who helped advance Sound parish views."

THE DAWN AFTER THE DANCE

Here is your parents' dwelling with its curtained windows telling Of no thought of us within it or of our arrival here; Their slumbers have been normal after one day more of formal Matrimonial commonplace and household life's mechanic gear.

I would be candid willingly, but dawn draws on so chillingly As to render further cheerlessness intolerable now, So I will not stand endeavouring to declare a day for severing, But will clasp you just as always--just the olden love avow.

Through serene and surly weather we have walked the ways together, And this long night's dance this year's end eve now finishes the spell; Yet we dreamt us but beginning a sweet sempiternal spinning Of a cord we have spun to breaking--too intemperately, too well.

Yes; last night we danced I know, Dear, as we did that year ago, Dear, When a new strange bond between our days was formed, and felt, and heard; Would that dancing were the worst thing from the latest to the first thing That the faded year can charge us with; but what avails a word!

That which makes man's love the lighter and the woman's burn no brighter Came to pa.s.s with us inevitably while slipped the shortening year . . .

And there stands your father's dwelling with its blind bleak windows telling That the vows of man and maid are frail as filmy gossamere.

WEYMOUTH, 1869.

THE SUN ON THE LETTER